


ten-thirty p.m.

by doofusface



Series: drabbles misc [5]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drabble, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Sad, coming home, post-IW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 11:18:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16039415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doofusface/pseuds/doofusface
Summary: When everyone comes back, they remember.They remember, because it's written on their skin.





	ten-thirty p.m.

**Author's Note:**

> originally [this](https://doofwrites.tumblr.com/post/174126109128/ten-thirty-pm-drabble) but finally decided to fix it a bit
> 
> wow look an actual drabble that is drabble length l o l

Peter comes home at half-past ten, scratching at the black, vein-like mark on his hand. He’s slumped by the wall, staring at his desk.

At his homework.

Wow.

Homework.

Didn’t think he’d miss _that_.

May’s words from when he’d stopped by the hospital still ring in his ears, but everything’s still too foggy, too _dusty_ in his brain.

Bits and pieces floating around and refusing to string together.

Maybe it’s just him, and half the population.

Maybe it’s just that he’s not _truly_ back together. Not _really_ back from the dead.

Light filters in from the living room—someone opening his door.

Some _ones_.

MJ and Ned stand in his doorway, Ned’s hands on MJ’s shoulder and arm.

She’s not pushing him away.

In fact, it kinda looks like Ned’s the one keeping her standing.

Wild, to see everything flipped over like this.

Everything just… _different_.

(Peter hasn’t decided if it’s a _good_ different, or just a _general_ different, but it is what it is.

He can think about it later.

Or never.

Anyway.)

His eyes smart, and it takes him a few moments to adjust to the yellow-white light.

He doesn’t say anything.

Ned doesn’t say anything.

MJ clears her throat, and Peter thinks he’s going to die again, the Spider-Man suit under his clothes itching to be let out.

(He’s been going back and forth between wanting to take it off and thinking it’s the only thing keeping him _solid_ , so he’d just.

Left it on.)

MJ’s mouth opens and closes in slow, uneven movements, but nothing comes out.

Ned’s hand on her shoulder squeezes lightly.

She stares Peter in the eye.

A leaf flies past the window, the twig bit making a light scraping sound fill the room.

Peter stares back.

“You jumped off the bus,” she rasps.

Just a statement.

Just a truth.

Ned releases her forearm, giving her a hug from the side before she can slump over.

That’s where Peter sees it, there by her wrist:

Inky and familiar.

Cracked lines that match the ones on his hand.

She stares at him and he stares at _it_ and Ned doesn’t let go until she’s able to stand by herself.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says.

Distant.

Distraught.

Dissolving again, in his mind’s eye.

He wants to be there with them. At the doorway.

Hold them.

Hold _her_.

But he can’t, anymore, can he?

Can’t, with the weight of just dying still on him, on his suit, gravel from Titan under his boots and between his fingers.

He can’t _move_.

It’s a bitter laugh that comes out of her. A pained, energy-sapped _laugh_ as she ducks her head and wipes with _that hand_ at her eyes and cheeks.

“Same,” MJ says quietly, sniffling. “Same, Peter.”

* * *

It’s a long time before they can say anything else other than apologies.

It’s a long time before they realize they didn’t have to.

**Author's Note:**

> :(


End file.
